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Nothing in this world is free, except poetry so come on aboard this free journey into this poets mind, he will introduce you to his poems that are carved from his memories and fantasies, every poem found in this free e-book is a preview of what can be found in his two paperback books. This is just a free taste to tingle your taste buds and have you begging for moreIs it only an optical illusion? this is why the pieces of the puzzle are shattered and the boundaries between the poetical world and that of hard-lined writers of classical romances are blurred, he teases you with tales of fantasy and stories of dancing cats, his wild imagination takes you on an adventure that never seems to end.This upcoming indie poet continues to surprise us with his imagination and depth of writing and has continued to write deep and darker over the last years, every struggle becomes a verse and every war becomes a poem.
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This collection of free poetry has been taken from the paperback books Poetry Tails and Just both written and published by Darren Hobson, each piece in this e-book is just the first verse from each poem in those books. If you like what you read then the next step would be to buy the paperback books.
When these poems were written back in 2014 the poet was in a different place and a different mind frame as the years passed his poetry become stronger and bolder so what we read in these pages is sort of an end of an era, he wiped the slate clean and started on a different path, everything that was written after this e-book was written to be published in an ebook.
This e-book was never meant to last this long on the digital shelves of the publishing universe but the e-book continues to be downloaded and so by public demand this digital freak is staying put.
The paperback book Poetry Tails (ISBN13: 9781501054341) has one hundred pages and is a book full of poetry, the difference being that all the pieces are basically short stories but written in poetry, not the usual love poems then, just a little different from the daily poetry you see everywhere today, a lot of the poems are long and sometimes complicated, some are sad, some are crazy and yes the dancing cats appear!
Mist And Snowfall.
Like some film in a Hollywood era,
Shot sixty years ago,
Everybody in their modern cars, for that time,
Warring against thick snow.
On a main highway between two states,
The snow is thick and fast,
Twenty cars or vans they have crashed,
The main road subsequently blocked,
A detour was the only way to go,
Into the countryside with roads in second class,
The weather got worse and the roads where long,
And they were not straight or with road signs…
1978 was a mammoth year,
Some months after a glimpse,
Of the queen on her silver jubilee,
We moved from Ribbleton,
To a promised land called Penwortham,
We arrived in three,
Mum, dad and me,
And little sister met us there,
A three bedroomed Barratt house,
With all the mod cons for that decade,
A garden at the front and rear,
And a brook that ran down the back,
For a few years our sanctuary,
They were good years looking back…
Dark and cold I awake,
My bed is pushing me out,
Must go now downstairs,
Sleepy-eyed, I stand, I yawn,
Before I switch on the light,
To take my trip to the ground floor,
I see something out of the corner of my eye,
And I turned around to see some more,
And yes, there near the stairs,
There was something different something not right,
Something that should not be there,
On this wet and cold winter’s night…
George Best’s Balls.
After 20 minutes of boredom,
Handbags at the ready,
Like 80s hair,
Gone in a flash,
Materialized into blue,
Just like Doctor Who,
And they call it football,
Now played by millionaires,
Owned by the rich and foreign,
With brainless no talented idiots…
Sword In The Sunshine.
Not in our time, not in our land,
Far away, a time we cannot understand,
A land of chaotic features,
A time of change and danger,
The people are wild and wiser,
Now we focus on this stranger.
A woman dressed for war,
Certainly not a domestic creature,
A woman whose beliefs are worth fighting for,
And fighting is her art,
She’s not a women you can double cross,
She’s too wise and will smell a rat…
The Orphan With The Torn Stockings.
The orphan with the torn stockings,
Sits on the steps of a bombed out house,
The war and its pain is no more,
Her parents no longer around to feed her,
No excuse in complaining,
The daily chores need to be done,
She sits there on the steps darning her stockings,
There is no time or need for fun,
A passer-by stops and donates bread,
A gift accepted but never asked for,
A thank you and a smile from truthful eyes,
Not her style to ask for more.
Zombie Class 13.
So class welcome back to another gruelling year of ambition,
And sacrifice and pain and suffering,
And the tears and the laughter and the coffee and more tears,
And that is just the parents after all these years…
Got to get up early to take your baby to school,
Even though he is 15 it is something you need to do,
Even though last night he acted like a real man,
Smoking and drinking and molesting every available hen,
Got to get up early got to show off your ass,
Got to give a good impression in front of the whole class,
Got to drive and park as close to the gates as you can,
Got to show the world that you stand by your little man…
A Cheaper Way To Fly.
Clock is ticking its making that noise,
Like a rickatickaty tick of old boy’s toys,
It’s winding you up as it’s winding down,
It’s literally sticking out its tongue like a circus clown,
It’s telling you that you have fewer minutes to live,
And that you’re nearer to a word called die,
It’s telling you off for all the missed opportunities,
It’s giving you a push and a cheaper way to fly.
And it’s pushing you over a cliff,
And you don’t dare to look down,
It’s living for the first time without parents,
And it’s midnight in a desolate town…
The Abbey In Whitby.
Whitby abbey1220 was the beginning,
An abbey was born,
Above the town of Whitby,
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